


blue lights in my head

by softcoregore



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst, Big Gay Feelings, Catholicism, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Sad!Carisi, big fat catholic guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-04-05 18:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19045873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softcoregore/pseuds/softcoregore
Summary: In which Sonny is reminded harshly how rife homophobia is, and Rafael tries to figure out his place in all of this.





	1. you thought you bought heaven

**Author's Note:**

> yeah i wrote this instead of studying for my alevels yes im dumb i understand
> 
> title stolen from ‘ave maria’ by ieuan, a good little catholic like me can’t resist a hail mary.
> 
> warnings for: suicidal ideation, referenced suicide, homophobia & “religious” bigotry etc
> 
> enjoy.
> 
> (oh and also the next ch will be from rafael’s perspective which is why this is short)

Sonny was having a pretty shit time of it all.

 

He knew he was seen as a pretty “happy-go-lucky” guy, especially in SVU given the crimes they dealt with. Hell, Rollins and Fin often compared him to a puppy in terms of his general demeanour.

 

And he was brought up to be that kind of guy; in an over-sharing, very much loving family he wasn’t necessarily given the time or space to harbour enough anger and sadness for it to become part of his daily personality. Even when he went through his teenage angst phase and decided he preferred sneaking out and ignoring his family, his Nonna was still there after Mass every Sunday, forcing him into handmaking pasta and telling her everything he was feeling.

 

Recently, however, everything had broken past his optimism barrier and it felt like every day was a fresh assault on his waning positism. It all kicked off after he visited family a week ago, joining them for Mass at their Staten Island parish, something he rarely had time to do with the never-ending random SVU call outs requiring him to constantly be in Manhatten - even just in case. Mass wasn’t the problem on Sunday, in fact it was one of the highlights of his day, being with his whole family and soaking in the years old tradition.

It happened after Mass, when he went back to his parents’ home, ready to have a big meal and catch up with everyone and finally take a break from the drag of Special Victims Unit.

 

In hindsight, he should’ve known a problem would arise, but he didn’t expect it to create such a rift. His Mom had simply asked him if he was seeing anyone, yapping on about wanting to see her ‘boy’ happy with someone. His family knew, in theory, that he was bisexual - he mentioned seeing guys previously in an offhanded way, but it was never properly brought up and all the guys were flings that happened during college & the police academy, never lasting more than 2 months. Maybe they all forgot, repressing in a typically Catholic way, aided by the fact that his two previous (and only) long-term relationships had been with women. Maybe it was his fault for not breaching the subject sooner. 

 

But his Mom asked, and without even putting much thought into it, Sonny mentioned being interested in someone at work. And then his sister started with the, “Oh is it the blonde one, the one who had the baby?”, which frankly made Carisi laugh a little, given his love for Amanda being strictly like a brother-sister bond.

 

So when he denied it and mentioned it was “that ADA that dealt with Tommy’s case”, he didn’t predict the silence which would follow, punctuated with a bloated look on his family’s faces. 

 

_“You mean the guy? Barba?” Bella had replied, increduously._

_Sonny was shocked by the surprise evident on everyone’s face. He knew his sisters wouldn’t judge him on his sexuality but he didn’t realise they were so in the dark about the whole issue, his parents included. He assumed they all remembered his short-term boyfriends, even if it had been several years ago._

_“Yeah, Rafael, though he only lets me call him Barba. I shadowed him a while back in preparation for the Bar and since then, I don’t know, things have developed and I think we might actually become something more.” He replied, hoping they all understood that his sexuality is was a non-issue._

_His hope was ill-believed, because the second he had finished, the anger came off his father in waves._

_“Why can’t you just find a nice catholic girl to settle down with? Why do you insist on forcing this queerness on your family? Your mother and I put up with it when you were at college, thinking you’d come to your senses and realise what you were doing was a sin. Instead you want to put us through having a sodomite as a son instead.”_

 

Safe to say he left shortly after that. 

 

And the Monday following had hardly been a positive experience either. He knew he would start the week being moody, still processing the events of the sunday and his apparent shunning from his family, which was pretty big for him. But the case they caught mid-Monday, which the Lieu had put him as Lead on, was one of a young boy who was drugged and raped several times, and left in an alley to die. This was already a mood-killer, which wad hard to do given the breadth of depravity he normally survives through at SVU, but then the case became harder when he found out the Vic, who was only 15, was struggling with being gay and his family alienating him.

 

The case became personal to Sonny, and when each lead led to nothing, and the only evidence he found in court linking the rape to 2 football players at the Kid’s school torn apart in court by Buchanan, he felt himself delve into despair. 

 

And to make matters worse, the Vic was destroyed on the stand, with his family background and his struggle with himself labelled as the reason it happened: he wanted to experiment and forced himself on the two Seniors, he then cried rape to cover up his “behaviour” in front of his family. And Sonny felt for the kid, Oliver, he really did. He knew what it felt like to be rejected by his family, it was still fresh in his mind, and to see a 15 year old boy forced to relive his parents’ disgust on the stand in front of a Jury... well, Sonny could only imagine the pain the boy was going through.

 

The hardest part, the final nail in the coffin, was when he found out yesterday that Oliver had been found hanging in his bedroom with a cracked rib and a suicide note that only said ‘sorry’. 

 

Now Sonny was here, drinking at 3AM on an early Sunday morning, seeing flashes between the bottles of a pale, blue-tinged face, devoid of the life the kid had shown only a few days ago. He was on his 8th beer, an unknown number of shots in, and all he could think about was how it could’ve been him, if he had been more insistent as a teen, if he had had more than just flings, if he was younger when he had the explosive argument of the previous Sunday. His sisters and mother had rang him sporadically throughout the week, assuring him that they didn’t hold the same view as their father, but his dad hadn’t reached out to him, hadn’t checked up on him despite the Saturday afternoon paper detailing Oliver’s story and the case and Carisi’s involvement.

 

Carisi didn’t even know if he could make it to Church, notwithstanding the blatant fact he was still drinking 8 hours before Mass commences. 

 

His faith with God is strong, and he’d addressed his struggle with his sexuality when he was 17 and going to confession for looking at the football players and finding them as attractive as the cheerleaders. But he wasn’t sure if he could bring himself into a place of holy worship and pray for a salvation his own parent didn’t think he deserved. 

 

Still nursing his bottle of beer, he barely noticed the person slipping in on the barstool next to him.

 

“Whisky, please.”

 

Sonny knew that voice. Sonny had that voice committed to memory, encroaching without permission in his dreams or during not-cold-enough showers. 

 

Barba, was here, at 3am, in a dive bar in a seedy part of Manhattan. Barba, who usually frequented Forlini’s and drank 21 year old Glenfiddich, not watered down Jack Daniels off a perpetually sticky bartop. 

 

Sonny lifted his head as best he could, slurring a greeting towards Barba, who seemed to be fairly worried based on his hazy facial expressions. 

 

The slurring really didn’t help with his concern, and had Sonny been sober enough, he would’ve acknowledged that barely holding his head above an angled slump was probably concerning in and out of itself.

 

He heard Barba’s reply, or at least he recognised the deep-seated twinge on concern, but all he knew was that he was careening straight towards Barba’s chest, collapsing into it like he wasn’t a 39 year old grown man several inches taller than Barba who would regret this in the morning if he remembered it.


	2. unconcious on the bathroom floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barba found Carisi, pissed in the bar and barely clinging onto conciousness. Clearly things were bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the delay on this, i had intended this on being the final chapter. things sort of ran away with themselves and i reckon the next chapter will be the last.
> 
> also ik this has sort of become a bit of a character study for both sonny and rafael, i felt i needed to develop where the show clearly neglected to do so, hence the deep mental discussion from Barba. sorry if thats not your thing :-)
> 
> (Side note: 1 exam down, 9 to go!)

Barba knew something was up with Carisi.

 

Loathe as he may be to admit it out loud, he knew Carisi better than just a coworker, almost better than a friend. Being shadowed and seeing Carisi actually apply his knowledgeand show his legal brilliance, even if Rafael hid behind taunts of him attending Fordham, brought them closer than before.

 

Rafael knew what Carisi looked like when he was tired and forcing his eyes open to scour one last piece of statute. He knew what he looked like when he was grumpy, however rare that might be, and needed either food or someone to talk to. More commonly, he knew what he looked like when he was happy, his eyes lit up, shining with more than 100kW or so it seemed. And Barba loved when he was happy, fronting that it slightly annoyed him, but the Detective’s happiness was contagious and nearly always dragged Rafael into a better mood.

 

And that’s why he was worried.

 

Ever since Monday, Carisi had been subdued, distant, and it seemed the case had only dragged him down further, it would anyone. Whatever happened to catalyse his pessimism must’ve happened on Sunday or Monday morning, because Barba remembered leaving Carisi outside his apartment on Saturday night, smiling and slightly wine drunk after the evening at Liv’s. All Barba remembered was Carisi mentioning something about his family and going to visit, presumably for Mass alongside it, but Carisi had a good relationship with his family so it seemed out of place for them to be the reason. Then again, it was out of place for him to even be this negative, so which was more likely? If Barba continued to attempt to deduce the cause he knew he would fail, a real-life Prosecutor’s Fallacy.

 

The case had likely only served in making matters worse, and whilst everyone on the team was affected, especially given the tragic events of yesterday morning, Sonny had taken it really hard. Rafael hadn’t seen him smile since Monday, and the last he saw of him was in the Judge’s chambers several hours before, red-ringed eyes and anger as they had to concede the case. Maybe he hoped he could win it, get some justice for the victim, but Carisi, Barba, anyone with an above layman knowledge of the legal system knew it would be impossible to prove.

 

Barba was upset with the outcome, upset with the child losing his life, especially given his own experience with his father and his own sexuality, but that is in turn what numbed him to the news. Rafael was used to his parent’s (well, his father) using violence, anger, aggression, to attack him for his attraction to men. He knew people, friends & ex-boyfriends, who had been beaten, raped and killed, and news like this was no longer out-of-the-ordinary. Instead it was another reminder that he would never be accepted by society and family, whether it was because he was Hispanic, he was from the Bronx or because he was gay. 

 

He lived with his anger now, simmering in the pit of his mind, making edges sharper and brittle. He lived with it.

 

Whatever Carisi was dealing with, it was obvious he wasn’t as used to this outcome as Rafael was, and call Rafael paranoid, but he didn’t want to wake up on Sunday to a picture of the Detective’s head on a morgue table, lips blue just like that poor boy’s had been.

 

Tracking Carisi had ended up being easy, although Rafael had a late start, only leaving the office after tying up all the loose ends of the case at 12pm. Rollins told him Carisi normally liked some dingy bar in the dodgier parts of Manhattan, close to where his apartment was.

 

And walking in little after 3, feeling distinctly out of place, Barba saw the pitiful sight of Carisi slumped over the bar, clinging onto a half drunk bottle of beer, clearly gone from tipsy to pissed.

 

He slid into the stool next to him, trying not to disturb the Italian’s slumped state and gestured for a whisky, one he knew would be subpar, if only based off the drinks behind the bar let alone the general grunginess of the place. 

 

Turning towards Carisi, he saw the clearly out-of-it man attempt, in some way, to acknowledge his prescence. However his eyes were crossing and barely opening, and it was evident he had been crying, given his slightly rosy nose, faint tear tracks and the rather-disgusting remnants of snot. That wasn’t what was concerning him, the clearly distressed state of his friend was. He had never seen Carisi this bad, not even after several shots of a dodgy liquor Fin had brought in (he had claimed it was stronger than Absinthe, and drank none of it himself). God, Barba knew he was right in searching him out.

 

Next thing he knew, he had a 170 pound, 6 foot tall grown man falling straight into his chest, nearly sending himself flying off of the barstool he was only precariously sat on. Pushing Carisi up in an effort to correct himself, he saw the man’s eyes only flickering open, hardly even close to concious and coherent. Now he was going to have to either take Carisi to his apartment, fiddle with his keys and spend an inordinate amount of time actually figuring out where the detective’s things actually were. Or he could take him back to his apartment, likely via Uber (although Lyft was becoming more reliable given the increasing Uber rape cases). If he took Carisi back to his apartment, he would know where everything is, and quite frankly it would mean he would be quicker to sleep than having to makd the round trip to the other’s apartment.

 

Well, that settled it.

 

His anxiety surrounding Carisi’s mental state had slightly lessened now he was leaning into him practically snoring; there was next to no way Carisi could cause damage to himself passed out on Rafael’s shoulder. Barba ordered the Lyft and left the money for his not-even-touched drink, leaving a couple of bills for Carisi’s too, just incase the man hadn’t paid for them outfront. Sure Rafael despised the bar so dingy it was comparable to Paddy’s Irish Pub from the ever infamous It’s Always Sunny, but he knew Sonny might want to go back in the future, knowing his love for lost (and frankly disgusting) causes. 

 

Look at him, he left $40 in case the man slobbering on his $3000 suit wanted to return to the failing-a-city-health-check bar. He was pathetic.

 

Beginning to stumble out of the place, likely being watched by some of the probably dodgy patrons, Barba pratically yank-dragged Carisi towards the door and the waiting car. Carisi being taller and heavier (he may look slender but his lean muscle hid secret weight, which was only just apparent to Rafael) meant travelling the maybe 20 feet was no easy task.

 

Despite the struggle, Rafael eventually got the mindlessly mumbling drunk into the black sedan that was waiting for them, nodding apologies to the driver, who seemed to take blissful ignorance to the sight he probably saw daily.

 

As the car continued, the still bright New York sceneary passing by through the windows, Barba allowed himself to take stock of the situation as Carisi stayed mumbling into his shoulder. Clearly, this issue went deep for Carisi, whatever it was. Rafael had always assumed his friend was straight, no matter how heteronormative some of his fellow queer friends might consider that. But he was very clearly upset over the case, in a way Liv and Rollins hadn’t been affected. Fin had been affected by the case too, Barba remembers, but it was fuelled by anger towards the kid’s parents for not caring over their child regardless of sexuality. He reckons Det. Tutuola’s anger was fuelled by parental protectiveness over having a gay son himself, but Carisi’s anger (and sadness) didn’t seem to be from a removed perspective.

 

It appeared to be from a place of recognition, like he had experienced paternal disapproval for his sexuality too, which certainly spun Barba’s belief that he was straight on it’s head. 

 

The reaction wasn’t like Rafael’s, weary and used to familial disapproval and the tragedy in the world. Maybe Carisi had only just come to terms with his queerness, whatever it may be, and that’s why it hit hard.

 

Rafael could posture all he wanted; the answer would only come from Carisi, and Rafael wasn’t sure if he could ask. Right now he certainly couldn’t, given the man was a blubbering mess.

 

The lyft pulled up to his apartment building, a quick enough trip given the time (which was a godsend on Rafael’s wallet, even if he was on a hefty salary) and rather quickly sped off after he finally managed to work the deadweight that was Det. Dominick Carisi out of the car.

 

After the arduous and time-consuming task of getting Carisi into his building & up to his apartment, whilst looking as non-suspect as possible to the doorman, Barba finally got the younger man into his home and onto his bed. Unfortunately it wasn’t under the circumstances he had oft thought about, not that he would admit to thinking about it. 

 

The problem was a) Carisi was still fully dressed in his suit from the day previous and b) whilst Barba was unfortunately giving up him own bed, sheerly due to size difference, he drew the line at having a likely dirt & soot ridden suit on his bed, mainly out of thought of his 1200 thread count egyptian cotton sheets.

 

So the only option was to wake Carisi up, since undressing him whilst he was unconcious would definitely lead to an SVU case.

 

Shaking him gently, far gentler than he previously yanked him up into the elevator, Rafael saw Carisi’s eyes flicker with a recognition of the disturbance. 

 

Okay, so he was capable of waking up. Rafael shook him harder, peppering in some soft (rarely a word associated with him) encouragements to finally get Carisi up to life. It was around 4AM now, so Rafael knew from experiences that time mixed with the nap Carisi had would likely begin to sober him up.

 

“Yes?” Carisi slurred, finally sitting up against the pillows and pulling his head sluggishly. Of course the guy wasn’t worried at all about his whereabouts despite being in a fairly foreign environment.

 

“Car- Sonny it’s me, Rafael. I took you home from the bar because you were drunk, and now you’re in my apartment but you need to get undressed so you can sleep.” He replied, being a tad louder than necessary to ensure Carisi actually paid attention to what he was saying, rather than nodding back off.

 

“You want to undress me?” He slurred back, still regaining full conciousness, and obviously unaware of the context of the question.

 

“You are drunk and in my bed, ruining my nice sheets. Trust me, this isn’t how I envisioned undressing you.” Rafael retorted, only just realising the implication of his words. Well. Sonny was drunk anyway, he probably didn’t understand the meaning. And even if he did, that one instance of embarassment for Rafael was easily overshadowed by Sonny drooling.

 

Wait, when did Carisi become Sonny in his head?

 

“What? Am I at your apartment?” Sonny replied, becoming more and more awake with every second. He was beginning to look at Barba with coherency.

 

“Yes,” Barba replied, growing exasperated (but fondly) with the 21 questions from Carisi. “I went to the bar you were in to check on you, I knew the case had taken it’s toll on you, and you passed out around the minute I got there. I figured it was easier to take you back to mine then going to yours since I was the one awake.”

 

Carisi acknowledged what Barba said and nodded non-committally. 

 

“Fair enough Counselor,” Much to Barba’s chagrin, Sonny’s words still had a slur to them despite him being as close to fully alert as he was going to get. “I guess I’m going to have to change then, that’s what you wanted me to do right.” Maybe it was the alcohol but Carisi’s words had a suggestive tone at the end of them.

 

“Yes, as I said multiple times before this point,” Rafael replied, getting slightly irritated with the implication Carisi had just made. Maybe he did hear what Rafael had said prior. “Here are some clothes, feel free to get changed into them, the bathroom is through that door if you feel at any time like you’re going to throw up.”

 

Barba pointed to the clothes he had pulled out of his drawers before he had attempted to wake Carisi up. The only things he had which he reckoned would be large enough to accomodate the taller man were an old Harvard hoodie he had appropriated from an ex-boyfriend and a pair of sweatpants, which he vehemently denied owning under different circumstances, and claimed to not know how he came into possession of them. Carisi looked back at him as he began to leave, looking slightly at a loss.

 

“I’m sure your sleep will be wonderful in my bed, Sonny, so enjoy it. I wish I was.” Rafael said in parting, closing the door and skulking to the sofa down the hall. It was a comfortable sofa by all means, but nothing compared to his bed, especially after a long night manhandling a drunk detective across Manhattan. Either way, Rafael pulled sheets over the sofa and settled in, already in pajama trousers and a t-shirt prior to the attempt of undressing Carisi. He fell asleep to the noises of the still tipsy, likely still depressed Detective down the hall, stumbling around his room into all hours of the night.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any comments and/or kudos are much appreciated! 
> 
> also: ‘everything i know’ from in the heights was definitely written for college!Barba


	3. I've been fiending for the love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry I've been gone for a while, exams really took their toll on me, especially since I did so poorly :(  
> I still have to write an essay on the mathematical modelling of cancers for chemo treatment... not fun :/
> 
> to make up for it I made the final chapter super long, sorry if it feels like sonny n rafael sound not much like themselves, I haven't watched svu in a while. also, I'm not up to the bit in svu w rafael and the threats so idk what his apartment looks like lol :)
> 
> oh also I used the term fag & queer in this. as a bi man I believe I have the right to reclaim those terms, especially in the context of this fic. and if the end of this chapter feels awkward, I've never written actual romance before, all of mine have been pre-slash.
> 
> enjoy.

The sun had risen and Sonny was awoken by the sound of someone making coffee out of a machine, along with the driest mouth since his college night escapades and a headache that made every mechanical groan of the coffee machine, wherever it was, amplified. He barely remembered what happened last night, only flashes of him drinking progressively more at the shitty bar near to his apartment.

 

All Sonny knew was that he wasn’t in his apartment. He could never fork out for a splashy coffee maker that was making the grinding sounds he could hear now, settling instead for a used filter machine barely better than the sludge that sat in the SVU break room.

 

Ignoring the coffee machine, he also didn’t have a bed nearly as comfortable as the one he was laid in, muscle pain from leaning over a bar all night be damned. Opening his eyes slowly, feeling the light sharply bringing pain into the brightness, he looked around as his eyes adjusted to the difference. In all fairness, the room he was in wasn’t even that bright, the dark maroon curtains and what seemed to be dark hardwood floors absorbing most of the light. This was a complete juxtaposition to his apartment, where the flimsy Ikea curtains did nothing to prevent harsh New York light from seeping in and illuminating the yellowing, once-white walls in his own bedroom.

 

Slowly pushing up on forearms and sliding up the bed, he took stock of the rest of the room while his back screamed at him for the sudden interruption. In front of him was a sleek, almost showroom perfect wardrobe contraption, with suit jackets in an open section - very expensive looking suit jackets.

 

Ah, so he was in Barba’s bed. Tragic that it appears he spent the night alone in it, too.

 

The longer he was awake, the more that was coming back to him from the night before. He remembered arriving at the bar in the mood, the one that had been accumulating all week, drowning the thoughts in lukewarm beer. He remembered everything becoming heavier as he stayed languid at the bar, all the thoughts from the week hanging on his neck like a noose and dragging him down, could feel the particles as they resisted his head like an insult. Okay, so he _definitely_ ended up drunk, past the point of awareness. He remembered Barba coming into the bar, looking a shade of worried. And then he can’t remember what happened after Barba arrived. Flashes of coming back into this room, Barba trying to get him undressed and under the sheets, him cracking some joke about Barba trying to undress him whilst, drooling, Barba retorting something that almost suggested he returned Sonny’s attraction — _almost._ Barba had helped him, only getting a little snippy, even whilst drunk Sonny had been a pain, a little like sober Sonny was.

 

Pulling the thick, silky covers back (oh _yeah_ , this was definitely Barba’s bed), Sonny manoeuvred up off the bed and onto the cool hardwood, padding to the door and fighting through the increasing hangover he could feel behind the base of his skull. Hard to believe beers had this effect on him, he normally only got hungover drinking spirits. Although he supposed being in the mood he has been, he probably drank enough to kill a small elephant. It might’ve been his intention.

 

For whatever reason, he didn’t feel the gloom as heavy as he felt yesterday, maybe it was knowing someone cared enough for him to keep an eye on him, maybe it was the headache that was banging so hard it took over everything else. Ah, at least he had a bit of respite.

 

He made his way to the door, pulling the door open to the sight of bright sunshine. Not only was the light blinding, clearly not stopped from blackout curtains unlike the bedroom, but the coffee machine, still making it’s rumbling, seemed ten times louder. He started down the corridor, towards the sound. For a New York apartment, Barba sure had a confusing layout, expense of the place be damned. ADA may pay well but it didn’t pay this many spare square foot well.

 

The living room was big, open plan like most fancy New York, Tribeca-y apartments, with the kitchen connected and what looked like dark furnishings and stylised decor, very Barba-in-his-sharp-suits-esque. It still felt like Barba though, from what he could see from the doorway he was leaning on. There were law books on the shelf, international law journals, Hansard, but there were also classics, murder mysteries and Dostoyevsky’s lining the bookcase. His tv was on, directly facing Sonny and showing what seemed to be a Sunday morning omnibus of a telenovela, but Sonny only vaguely grasped the Spanish being broadcast, the latin roots similar to Italian. The angle he was stood at let him observe Rafael’s back as he pottered around the hob also facing the television, what smelt like scrambled eggs cooking in the pan and two fresh mugs of coffee next to his arm, one already half drunk. It was a lovely sight to see, despite the circumstances it came to.

 

“There’s a cortadito there for you.” Barba’s voice broke the pseudo-silence, his back not even turning towards Sonny as he jumped by the sudden announcement. Startling up into action, he walked to the counter and picked up the mug, sitting on the barstools directly facing Rafael. Rafael looked up and smiled, wearing a faded blue t-shirt and checked blue pants, juxtaposing his normally sharp look. It was a good look, softened him. The light filtered in and illuminated the side of his face, his slight smile as he hummed along with the theme tune to the show. Sonny stared, soaking up the view in case he never experienced it again. Rafael looked up again, a little more puzzled at Sonny’s consistent onlooking.

 

“Are you okay, Sonny?” Rafael asked, looking him in his eyes and checking softly.

 

Since when did Barba call him _Sonny?_

 

Barba only looked at him more pointedly, waiting for a reply whilst he stirred the eggs. Sonny’s eyes grew as he realised he had forgotten to answer.

 

“Oh yeah, no I’m fine,” He awkwardly chuckled in reply, staring down at the cup full of caramel-coloured liquid. “My head is killing me though, guess I should’ve laid off the beer last night.”

 

Barba only looked at him with slight disbelief, plating up the eggs onto some toast on two plates and topping them with some hot sauce.

 

“Last night you were more than drunk, I know that and you know that. Do us both a favour and tell me what you’re really thinking.” Rafael replied, guiding Sonny to the sofa, still with sheets on. Rafael must’ve slept here last night, whilst Sonny enjoyed his king bed. To think Barba was so thoughtful underneath all the snide remarks. (Sonny always knew he was soft under the many, _many_ hard layers.)

 

Sonny sat, propping his feet up on the glass coffee table that was definitely too expensive and grabbing his plate off of Rafael.

 

“This case, it’s taken more out of me than normal,” Sighing, he turned slightly to face Barba, “I mean, he was a kid. I feel responsible for what happened to him, I should’ve taken precautions, put him up in a home.”

 

“You could’ve, but that would’ve been a headache in itself, that could’ve pushed the Kid over the edge. You can’t blame yourself, you were the only one who fought for him,” Barba looked kindly at him, but also a tad wearily. “You know that. You knew beginning the case how the attitudes are around teen male rape, especially when the victim’s family are homophobic. I don’t know what has sent you spiralling down in this case, because you’ve been through this situation before and it’s never rattled you this bad. Sonny, a part of me thought I would wake up and see you dead this morning.”

 

Rafael looked at him dead in the eyes at his final words, imparting the knowledge that he really was terrified that Sonny would off himself. Fuck. Sonny didn’t even know how to reply to that, focussing instead on chewing the eggs and looking down at his plate. A part of him was scared too, that Rafael was right to be scared. Sonny, his highs are high but his lows are really low. He’s been lucky not to have too many of them, to stay on his up during his time so far in the SVU, but even Sonny knows that last night might’ve turned out differently if Rafael hadn’t come, if he started drinking harder alcohol, if he thought he could walk all the way home at that time. If he remembered he had his gun.

 

He took a breath in and looked at Rafael.

 

Maybe it was time to tell him.

 

“Barba, _Rafael_ , you’re right. I know logically I couldn’t have done anything to stop what happened that was within my power. I suppose it’s not what I am upset about, really.” He took a deep breath in, steadying himself by putting his plate down and looking back at Rafael. “Last Sunday, after Mass, I had gotten into an argument with my family. It was pretty serious, I mean I still haven’t spoken to my Dad and I’ve already missed Mass today. Going in on Monday, seeing that case, it was the worst possible case I could’ve gotten at that time.”

 

Rafael nodded, taking in what Sonny had said and processing everything. Normally he would make a remark, something joking but cutting, diffuse the unspoken tension. Now though he was quiet, and though he secretly loved Barba’s sarcastic side, Sonny needed a listening ear right now.

 

“That’s tough, especially given you were made lead on the case. That’s a lot of responsibility. I’m still missing something though. What was the argument about?” Rafael prodded, almost gentle as though he were dealing with a child. “You’re free to not to tell me if you don’t want to, you’re free to get up and leave, I won’t hold it against you or mention it again. But I don’t want you to leave if it means you’ll only go back to how you were in the bar. Whatever you need to say, say it. I’ve heard a lot, I can take it Sonny.”

 

Well, he wasn’t going to leave, not when Barba had been so kind, and he was so close to maybe getting a chance with him, if he was also queer. Sonny felt the words coming out of them with a confidence he hadn't felt his whole time since starting at the Special Victims Unit.

 

“I haven’t said this to anyone at SVU, and whilst it’s not an explicit secret, I know what the NYPD are like, I’d rather keep it private. My family were arguing because after Mass, I reminded them mindlessly that I was bisexual. Like fully interested in men, the whole 100 yards. And maybe they forgot, maybe they chose to forget, maybe they never even acknowledged it in the first place, but they were all shocked, my Dad especially so. I know you never had a good relationship with yours, and I don’t have to know why if you don’t want to tell me. But when my Dad stood there, head of the table, shouting about how he’d never asked for a _“fag”_ for a son,” Carisi’s voice grew a slightly snide there. “It felt like I had lost mine. So getting that case, dealing with that kid’s parents, it hurt. That could’ve been me.”

 

“And Barba, I’ve made my peace with God,” He continued. “I know if I’m going to heaven or hell or whats-in-between. I know what my God wants of me, the love He has put in my soul, I did the whole ‘fear of internal damnation’ thing when I was 17, I know the scripture. But to think my own family, someone who I owe half of my flesh to, really hates me, hates what I can’t control... well it hurts.”

 

The silence after his confession rung, but Barba looked hesitant to break it. Finally, Sonny finished:

 

“1 John 4:20 - ‘ _Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar. For whoever does not love their brother and sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen._ ’ It's a sin to hate, but the world still does it.”

 

It felt good, getting all of that off his chest. He didn’t care if Barba hated him after that, his truth was out there and someone had heard him. His head flopped back onto the sofa, free from the weight of the world.

 

He felt pressure on his knee, the warm sensation of a hand resting lightly, comforting. Looking up, Rafael was looking at him, softly, patiently. Sonny didn’t see any malice, in fact he saw softness, empathy clear as day in hazel-green eyes. He smiled slightly back, still tinged with melancholia. The telenovela started up again in the background, disturbing the quiet bliss that follows in the wake of a confession as heavy as Carisi’s.

 

“Thank you for sharing your sexuality with me, Sonny. I know as well as you do what the NYPD can do to out officers, officially or unofficially through certain channels. And you’re right, I’ve never had a good relationship with my father. He was, is, an angry man and liked to take it out on me and my mother. But my story isn’t far from yours.” Rafael looked at Carisi reassuringly. “I’m gay. And dear old Padre didn’t take the information well, his gay Cuban son abandoning the neighbourhood to live it up with the _yumas_ in Harvard.” He ended bitterly.

 

“But Sonny, you’re not alone. There are people who have been through exactly what you have, there are people to support you. I never reconciled with Catholicism, with _Him_ , but you still have your faith. I know why this case hit you so hard because it hit me too, and you’re strong for being open about who you are, for still being here.”

 

Rafael was right. Sonny was a little surprised to find out Rafael was gay, there was always a hint of a relationship between him and that girl Yelina the Lieu had told him about from Rafael’s past. More than anything, however, it was comforting. It was hard to be a police officer and be gay, even bisexual like he was. In the Academy he had kept it pretty shtum, and he hadn’t mentioned it at any of the other precincts he had worked, out of fear and out of lack of closeness to the team. It felt right for the first person he came out to in the Manhattan SVU team to be Rafael, to be someone who would truly understand his experience.

 

“I know I’ve seemed blunt about stuff like this before, stuff to do with the LGBT community,” Sonny replied, wanting to get a final misconception off of his chest. “I know you, the Lieu, Rollins, you might think I’m uneducated, even bigoted at times. And that wasn’t a show, I didn’t pretend to be dumb over stuff like that. But I’ve never had a chance to fully be a part of the community, to find out about the history around it all, I’ve only had my experiences and the little knowledge from flings I had in college. So I’m sorry if I’ve ever come across as hateful or ignorant before, and I want you to know that I’m here for you too.”

 

Rafael nodded in understanding, and then smiled slightly.

 

“I know, Sonny. You’ve never been evil in your mistakes, and at times I probably also come off as blunt or harsh around certain things, but that’s my job and that’s your job. Now let’s watch _Por amar sin ley_ , I’m sure you’ve got a hangover to cure.” Finishing in a smirk, he turned up the volume and settled back down, leaning closer into Sonny.

 

Maybe there was a hint of interest, but who knows. Sonny settled into the pretty illegible-to-him Spanish and stared at the TV, watching one character argue with another about something or other. The warmth of the room and the tone of the voices soon lulled him into a wary doze. Until he felt the need to break the silence.

 

“Hey Rafael. How did you get an apartment this big? I know ADA pays well but you have at least 900 square foot, that isn’t cheap.” He had to ask, it had been in the back of his mind since he’d woken up.

 

Barba turned to him.

 

“You’re interrupting Victoria telling Roberto where to stick it for a question about my apartment? C’mon Fordham, this law telenovela is exactly your speed.” Still smirking, he raised his eyebrows at Sonny and gestured towards the cringy law programme.

 

“I’m being serious! My place barely has a kitchen big enough to walk into, and I make like $75k a year. I can’t remember how much an ADA makes but it’s nowhere near 1000 sq ft in Manhattan good.” He retorted, looking back with enthusiasm.

 

Rafael looked back, dead-pan.

 

“Firstly, I am the executive ADA for Manhattan, I make more than most ADAs. Secondly, I make enough, Sonny. I have to afford these suits, let’s just say I make around twice what you do, maybe more.” Rafael looked pointedly at the Harvard hoody Sonny was wearing, as if making a point of his own calibre. “Finally, the person who owns this building needed some legal help. I assisted him, he discounted my rent instead of paying me.”

 

Sonny nodded in acknowledgement, in turn smiling at Rafael’s legal skills getting him out of an extortionate rent. It was nice, serendipitous to sit here and banter with him, watch tv, witness Barba in his casual clothes. He kept looking, glancing from top to bottom, pretty blatantly checking him out. Appreciating him and his body, those lean calves, surprisingly toned for someone who sits at a desk all day or gives opening statements. His soft stomach, covered too in worn cotton.Sonny knew he wasn’t toned, which Sonny actually preferred, but seeing his soft midriff out of the crisp waistcoat and perfectly cut suits was more attractive than he thought before. His thick arms, relaxed along his side, reminded him of the multitude of ways they could be used against him, and the multitude of ways they’ve distracted him in court before. His eyes drifted up to see a righteous smirk on Rafael’s handsome face as he crossed his arms and looked straight at Carisi.

 

Softly, he said, “Did you just check me out, Detective?” His smirk only grew wider.

 

Oh okay, so Rafael was going to play that game, was he? Well, Sonny had been his protege-of-sorts for several months, he knew how to play that game.

 

“Depends, Counsellor, on whether you have any evidence I did.” Smirking back, Carisi looked challengingly, flirting. He knew there was a definite chance Barba was interested in him now, all the subtext prior to today seemed clear as day. What did he have to lose, he had already drooled on the man.

 

Rafael didn’t look shocked, more impressed. Oh, it was _definitely_ more than subtext.

 

Reaching over to rest one hand on Sonny’s arm, Rafael leaned in, only a few inches from Sonny’s face.

 

“I have all the evidence I need.” He glanced down at Sonny’s lips and up once more before leaning in and making his interests explicitly clear.

 

Maybe the end to Sonny’s week had a better ending than he thought possible.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments n kudos are much appreciated, 
> 
> also it's the song breathe from in the heights that is college!Barba lool I'm dumb

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos will alleviate my exam stress!
> 
> (im joking but theyre appreciated either way)


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